Silence
by bubblegum-buddy
Summary: Silence has power, but not nearly as much as the human heart. .:Grell x Madame Red, no dialogue:.


**Hello :) Thank you for dropping by to read this. My challenge here was to write a story with absolutely no dialogue, and honestly, I'm really, really happy with the result! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it :) Please review when you're done, I'd really love to know what you think!**

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Silence…it's a beautiful thing. We as humans fear silence and all its vulnerability – so easily broken, it is – as it reminds us of our own. How fragile, how truly vulnerable the human psyche is. The human heart. The human soul.

Grell Sutcliffe knows nothing of any of these things.

Grell avoids silence as best he can – rejects its embrace completely, like a petulant child not wanting to be seen in the arms of his mother for fear of shame. He knows nothing of mortality, and thus nothing of humanity. In this sense, Grell is worlds apart from his dear Madame Red, perhaps universes.

But he would gladly go into the cosmos and cross all those universes, if only for her.

Lucky him, he only has to cross the carpeted floor of her living room, disguised as her butler, to reach her.

Not used to the gravity placed on humans, Grell is clumsy in this form, making him a terrible butler. He tries to carry a thin silver tray with steaming hot tea over to her, casually but elegantly seated on a humbling brown chair, but he manages to trip over his own feet and falls forward, flat on his face, letting the tea fly in all directions and stain the lovely white carpet. His golden eyes widen and he looks up at his Madame, those same eyes brimming with tears and unspoken apologies – he feels so worthless compared to her in this form, so clumsy and so completely idiotic, he's worthless and he knows it.

But she doesn't do anything harsh. Instead, she gets up and strokes his cheek gently, and he knows that it's all right, that she doesn't care about things like this. He feels his cheeks burn with desire, embarrassment, and all sorts of other things he's never let himself feel in the company of a woman, and gazes right into her lovely scarlet eyes. He was so jealous of their color, what he wouldn't give to see the world tinged in scarlet.

Suddenly he realizes he's been staring for far too long as a quizzical look comes 'cross her face, and he scrambles to be on all fours, trying to use a kerchief tucked in his breast pocket to clean up the mess he made, but to no avail – it seems that the Earl of Grey (ha, what a joke) has made his new home nestled in the white carpet of the Barnett household. He bites his lip, and it's clear he feels awful because of his blunder, but once again, the Madame uses her magic touch to make him feel better, this time to cup his chin in her soft, feminine hand.

Before he can blink, the silence of the room is broken by the soft noise of a pair of lips crashing into unexpecting ones, but nothing more than that – no whispers mouthed into his own, no moans of desire, nothing. Just a chaste, simple kiss. And he likes it, likes it a lot more than any intimate touch a woman has ever given him before. He wraps his arms around her neck, closing his eyes and capturing her lips in his own. Slowly but surely what was once chaste melts into something a bit more on the sinful side, and he feels both their bodies heat up with desire.

His disguise cannot take the stress of such passions, for his are unlike human passion and desire, and it slowly melts away – his brown hair comes undone on its own and melts into long, flowing, scarlet locks, like those of his beloved mistress but allowed to grow wild and free. His teeth form into something monstrous and pointed, like fangs of a wolf or a cougar, and he resisted the urge to growl and put his prey in her proper place. He actually begins to grow a bit taller and stronger, more muscular – for his desires to be feminine cannot replace the testosterone that flows through his body due to his genetic makeup.

He begins to take control and sits upright, pulling his sweet Madame into his lap, tracing his fingers down her spine and stopping just at the small of her back. She entangles her fingers in his hair delightedly, and they both forget to breathe for a moment. They part, and their eyes lock, scarlet on gold, and they both know what the other wants – each other's whole and complete being, right then, right there.

And, knowing full well that their actions will shatter the silence and temporary serenity of the moment, of their time together, they comply, completely willing to take in all of each other right there on a tea-stained carpet.

Silence has power, but not nearly as much as the human heart.


End file.
